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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29622612">no thank you, i'm good</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/funkylittlebisexuall/pseuds/funkylittlebisexuall'>funkylittlebisexuall</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Triple Frontier (2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Cute, F/M, Fluff and Angst, but not really angst, frankie has baby girl</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 05:47:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,229</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29622612</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/funkylittlebisexuall/pseuds/funkylittlebisexuall</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Going home for a few weeks really wasn’t supposed to be this hard. Stranded on the side of the road with a flat tyre, hot and sweaty, you rack your brain for the how to, to change a tyre and just as you’re in the middle of it, a familiar face pulls over to the side of the road.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Francisco "Catfish" Morales &amp; Reader, Francisco "Catfish" Morales/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>no thank you, i'm good</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I’ve never really done this, this is my first fic for the pedro fandom AND my first reader insert so feedback would be great! Also send me a message or an ask for any fic you wanna see later or you just wanna see someone do, I’d love to write stuff for someone! Anyway, hope someone enjoys this weird little thing! :) </p><p>(I am also an Australian who has not visited America nor do I have American friends and google isn’t always that helpful so any weird Australian idiosyncrasies that slipped in there let me know and tell me the American equivalent I suppose!)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>How you ended up here, you really couldn’t tell. You were standing in the middle of Frankie’s living room and if you stayed for much longer, you might go into cardiac arrest. Your raw heart was tattooing a brand onto your ribs, a stinging pain piercing with every step around the walls of the quaint room. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Picture frames. Everywhere. They were a central feature without being too gratuitous and in your face. Frankie with his daughter, Frankie with his boys, Frankie at the garage he’d told you he owned now. But it was one photo in particular that caught your eye. It wasn’t hung on the wall, pride instead of nails hanging it from the plaster. It was small and it sat next to the couch on a side table, hidden. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You picked it up and couldn’t put it down. From within the frame, eighteen year old you stared right back. One arm disappeared behind nineteen year old Francisco Morales. Unadulterated happiness peeled from your smile and shoulders raised in aborted laughs as Frankie leaned down and planted a sloppy kiss on your cheek. Santiago was next to him with a hand covering his face as Frankie pushed him out of the way. You remember looking down at the polaroid after it was taken and back up at Frankie who captured your lips in a soft kiss and thinking that this must be what heaven looks like. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It was the only one I could find.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>**</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck me!” Oh how ashamed your mother would be if she could hear you, to be fair, the explectivies were quite necessary. A sagging tyre, popped somewhere along the deserted highway wasn’t in your itinerary when you planned a solo road trip back home from New York. You were on the homestretch too, a few miles and you’d reach the outskirts of town, really it was rotten luck you had got. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fear not you would because the back hatch of your car was to be trusted more than your foul mouth. You remembered an anxious part of your brain fueling your desire to kit out your tiny bug car with any kind of aid you could think of or the guy at the All American Auto Parts could sell to you that day. Opening the boot and lifting the carpeted hatch that hid your spare tyre, jumper leads, engine oil and car jack and wrench. Pulling out the jack and wrench you freed the spare tyre. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Just as you were rolling the tyre to the front of the car to dump it on the dusty road side, a familiar truck blew by. Paying only a quarter mind to it, you continued working through the motions of jacking up your car.. It wasn’t until that same truck pulled up, nose to nose with your own car.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One squeaky swing of a door later and shuffled footsteps, your stomach plummeted through the centre of the Earth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’d offer my help but it looks like you got it covered, pretty lady.” Standing up straight you looked Santiago Garcia in the eye before speaking. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Piss off would ya’” Santiago huffed a puff of air in insult, hand clutching his chest. You started running through the motions of twisting the wrench until the first bolt popped off. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Haven’t seen you in three years and the first thing you say to us is piss off? Wow you haven’t changed”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I told you to piss off Santi, I said nothing to Frankfurt over there.” With each bolt collected in a pile to the left of the popped tyre, you shimmied the tyre off, letting it thump to the ground dramatically before staring up at a very silent Frankie Morales. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How are you Frankie?” Frankie blinked out stiffly once, twice, three times before straightening up from the front of his truck and stuttering out a rushed good thank you, how are you?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You smiled softly up at him before going back to the task at hand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m great by the way, super duper actually! Just got a promotion, down in Colombia. Yep! I leave in a week.” Santiago babbled above you as you continued to ignore him. You smothered a smile, trying to not give him the satisfaction of knowing you were actually enjoying yourself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You expected Santi to continue his annoyance but it was Frankie who spoke next. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’re you doing back in town?” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Yeh last we heard you were still in New York.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Am I allowed to visit my mother, or is that off limits now Santiago?” Frankie ignored the both of you and spoke just to you. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She’ll be happy to see you.” Sweet as ever. That was your Frankie. His baseball cap still perched over his unruly curls, a baseball cap that was actually a gift from you. You’d seen it at a gas station on your way to visit your sister up state and the looming figure of bigfoot stitched across the front really spoke to you, it said that Frankie really needed that hat. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You couldn’t believe he still had it, let alone wore it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Frankie jumped forward as soon as he realised you’d finished with the flat and began to nut on the new tyre, taking the flat from the dust and holding it, like an awkward puppy. You huffed a laugh and continued to twist the last bolt back onto the car. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Standing and looking at the two men, you laughed once more as Santiago smirked a knowing look at you, hands in each pocket, casual and cool as ever. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’re going to get a drink, you should join us.” Was all Santiago said before he walked back to the passenger side of the truck. You and Frankie stood there, awkward as ever. Before Frankie could let any words slip past his cracked lips, you hurriedly showed him to the boot of your car where he placed the flat. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Standing back as you shut the back door, Frankie rubbed a nervous hand through his hair after lifting up the cap. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know, it would be great to catch up, talk again, have a drink.” He trailed off and you gave him a knowing nod before telling him you’d love to. The two of you decide that going straight from the side of the road to the bar would be easiest so you follow the beaten down pickup as it swerves back onto the highway. </span>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>**</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Frankie had just gotten up to go to the bathroom when Santiago leaned in from his side of your booth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’s missed you, ya’ know.” You sigh, hand immediately wrapping around your beer. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m serious, he won’t say anything but I have to. He missed you like crazy.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Obviously not enough to not knock up another girl.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s unfair and you know it.” You feel like all you’ve done is sigh since the start of this secret conversation. Of course it was unfair, it was downright rude for you to say. But to hear that Frankie had a daughter, by God did it strip the first layer of flesh from your heart. You imagined her brown eyes, the same as her dads. You imagined her soft brown, baby hair that would grow and curl just like her dads. You imagined Frankie, desperate and alone with a four month old baby after being left by his girlfriend, hair a mess, bags tattooed under his eyes and it tore another layer of flesh from your already sore heart. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nothing in three years had made you want to return to your home town, but the thought of Frankie Morales, abandoned and alone was the closest thing to do it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before your thoughts could fester any further, Frankie made a hasty return. Out of breath and stressed. You furrowed your eyebrows in question. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She’s here.” Was all he said, grabbing his jacket from the back of the booth. Santiago obviously didn’t need any more information, understanding his friends' plight immediately with just a word and a contraction. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who's here, what’s going on?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll explain in two minutes we just gotta go.” Frankie hurried you with a hand under your bicep hauling you up from the booth and through the crowd of the Friday night rush. It was all in vain however when Santiago, the leader of your escape attempt came to a halting stop. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In the middle of your get away route stood a woman. Not short but she couldn’t tower over your average person. She wore jeans and a white shirt. She looked amazing if you were being honest. Which is why when Frankie breathed out a soft, “Lydia”, you weren’t quick on the draw to figure out that this was the witch who left Frankie high and dry with a four month old. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Unfortunately we were just leaving, but do be sure to make another appointment.” Santiago was rushing out just as he squeezed Frankie’s forearm, trying desperately to get him out of here and away from her. But before Santiago could execute any kind of plan, Lydia was pushing a hand into the middle of Frankie’s chest and asking him to speak outside. You and Santigao looked at each other and if your intuition was still as sharp after all these years apart, you were just about ready to join Santiago in tackling Lydia to the ground. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Frankie however, was already walking past Lydia and out the front of the bar, you all expected him to storm off to his truck and leave, no one would hold it against him. Instead he stopped a short ways past the bar's entrance, back facing you all, waiting. The three of you looked at one another before following Frankie. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You and Santiago sat on a window ledge a few yards away from the ex couple, you can barely make out what they’re saying but the two of you tried your best to eavesdrop. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Where is she?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“With a sitter.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can I-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No.” Frankie shook his head vehemently. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can’t see my daughter, one last time?”</span>
  <span></span><br/>

  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“One last time?” Frankie was angry. You don’t think Lydia could tell but you definitely could. His voice lilted on the ‘e’ of time, every morning he’d woken up for the seventh time to their crying daughter, every time he’d been thrown up on, every time he’d cried himself to sleep just so he could get some kind of rest, weighing heavily on that ‘e’. It was a testament to how well Lydia did not know Frankie that she could stand there in front of him, and say those words without feeling his anger. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, I’m sorry.” Frankie said, interrupting Lydia. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You saw Amelia for the last time when you walked out on us.” Lydia didn’t say another word. The silence was suffocating but Frankie stood in it, staring down his ex-girlfriend. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The worst part, watching as the couple silently fought, was that Lydia wasn’t a monster. She was a human. A human with monumental mistakes on her shoulders but still no fangs, no claws just dark denim jeans and a stain in the middle of her blouse. In a way, you saw yourself in Lydia. You had walked out on Frankie, maybe you didn’t leave a baby behind but you know it hurt him all the same. And you hated that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You stopped listening after that, selfish of course the moment you felt bad, you backed out. As you laid your head in your hands, Santiago wrapped an arm around your shoulders. You had missed him, just as you’d missed Frankie. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Santi was the friend everyone wanted and you were lucky enough to have, you were glad he still felt the same way about you on some level. You rested a heavy head and heart on the soft of his cardiganed chest, heaving yet another sigh.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s good to be back.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s good to have you back.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>**</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It was the only one I could find” the frame slipped from your fingers, landing face down on the rug. Your knees were immediately rubbed red on the carpet as soon as you realised your mistake - forgiveness really wasn’t on the table if you ruined this photo. You picked up the frame, placing it back on the side table and looking back at Frankie. His lips were pulled up in a small smile from the corners of his mouth but you could see the string sowed into the edges of his lips that were forcing it. And it peeled one more layer from your aching heart. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I remember this picture.” You tell him</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Frankie replies, “Of course you would,” you frown. Frankie takes cautious steps across the rug until his chest is pushed up against yours. He reaches around you to the picture and brings it in between the two of you. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry about your wife Frankie.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ex wife.” he corrects. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ex wife” you whisper. He places a cautious hand barely against your cheek and you sigh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I missed you.” you whisper against his lips. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You have no idea.” He wastes no time in connecting the two of you. Connect in a way you two had been deprived of for over half a decade. You sigh against his lips and he brings his other hand to rest on your neck. You pull on his shirt so you’re flush. Chest to chest. This, you decide, is what heaven must look like. </span>
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